What is Fashion?
by Smileyfax
Summary: Sandi hits her head and forgets what fashion is. To recapture the meaning of fashion, Sandi  with the help of the Fashion Club  canvass Lawndale to find out what it means to others. Usually to her detriment.
1. Chapter 1

"If I must stand alone in setting exemplary standards for others to follow, so be it," Sandi concluded. "You're all overruled. Next topic."

"That's mine! Give it back!"

"Forget it, jerko!" Outside of Sandi's bedroom where the Fashion Club was having their meeting, the sound of conflict from Sandi's two younger brothers began to disrupt the otherwise orderly gathering.

"Um, the next topic is eyelash density," Stacy ventured, bravely ignoring the arguing.

"You suck! You suck!"

"Excuse me," Sandi said, getting up to confront her brothers (as it was her house, after all, and therefore her responsibilities). Once out there, her voice raised from its usual controlled tones. "Shut up, you little brats!" she admonished.

"Give me the remote!" Sam demanded of his brother. The two were quarreling over a remote-controlled truck.

"Oh!" Sandi called out in surprise, as the truck veered off and headed straight for her. Before she could dodge out of the way, her legs came out from under her, and she went tumbling down the stairs.

"Oww, my head!"

The other Fashion Clubbers crowded around their fallen leader. "Sandi, are you okay?" Quinn asked. a concerned look on her face.

Cautiously, Sandi nodded. "I think so. Ohhh, my head hurts."

A worried look crossed Stacy's face. "You don't have amnesia, do you, Sandi?"

Sandi rolled her eyes. "No, Stacy, don't be ridiculous. I'm still Sandi Griffin, President of the..." A frown graced Sandi's face. "I'm President of the...Club? It's some sort of club."

"Sandi..." Tiffany drawled out. "You're President of the Fashion Club."

"Oh," Sandi nodded. "What's a 'fashion'?"

Looks of horror were on Sandi's underling's faces.

"Fashion is dog poop!" Chris shouted, watching from the top of the stairs.

Sandi nodded in recognition. "Ah, of course. Fashion is dog poop." And with that, she stood and walked out of the house.

Worriedly, Quinn, Tiffany, and Stacy followed behind, to make sure she wouldn't do anything...unsafe. They followed her into the backyard of one of Sandi's neighbors - dog owners, as evidenced by the little piles scattered throughout the yard. Sandi knelt in front of one of the piles, picked up a handful, and began rubbing it in her face.

"Ewwwwwwww!" the other three clubbers squealed out in unison.

"Like, what?" Sandi asked contemptuously. "Did you three hit YOUR heads and forget what fashion is, or something?"

"But Sandi -"

Sandi cut Quinn off. "Look, as President of the Fashion Club, I think I know what fashion is. And if you don't think dog poop is fashionable, Quinn, maybe you should take a fashion sabbatical."

Quinn looked from Sandi to Stacy to Tiffany, a feeling of revulsion in her stomach. With no other option, she picked a pile and began rubbing dog poop onto her face, followed shortly by Stacy and Tiffany.

"What the FUCKING HELL?" Linda, Sandi's mother, had come home and witnessed the whole thing from the kitchen window. "SANDI, GET IN HERE AND WASH YOUR FACE! QUINN, STACY, TIFFANY, I'M CALLING YOUR MOTHERS!"

XXXXXXXXXX

You gotta love really specific amnesia.

Expect this to go places. (Places other than dog poopville). 


	2. Chapter 2

"Ugh, this SUCKS," Sandi lamented from her bed. Her face was throbbing red from where her mother had scrubbed off the dog dookie. "Like, what was I thinking?" She heard the sounds of a car pulling up to the house and looked outside to see that her father had returned home from work for the day. She went downstairs to talk with him.

"Hey pumpkin," Tom Griffin said absentmindedly, as he cracked open a beer and kicked back on the sofa. "How was your day?"

"Mom grounded me," she replied with an irritated twitch of her head.

"Aw, that's a shame. Why'd she do that?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Tom said a silent prayer in relief. He had a hard enough day at work without having to listen to his daughter whine about being grounded for whatever stupid thing she'd done.

"Dad, I have...like, a question."

Oh God. "What is it, Alexandra?"

Sandi frowned at the full name, but pressed on. "Like, what do you know about fashion?"

Tom sighed and took another swig of his beer. "Sweetheart, I don't know the first thing about fashion. All I know is that my bosses fight to see who can wear the fanciest suit, like that psychopath from American Psycho."

"American Psycho? Hmm. Thanks, dad." Sandi blew him a kiss and proceeded back upstairs (after making a quick detour to the family's collection of VHS.

XXXX

"Sandi...what are you wearing?" was the first thing out of Quinn's mouth at school the next day.

The Fashion Club President was wearing what appeared to be a man's business suit - although it was a bit large for her, a few strategically-placed safety pins had ensured that there would be no wardrobe malfunctions. Also, her hair was done in a simple businesslike ponytail, instead of with its usual pomp.

"I'm wearing the latest in...uh, what I pulled out of my father's closet last night..." She said the last with an embarrassed tinge. "Anyway, Quinn, why aren't YOU wearing it?" She turned her baleful glare to Stacy and Tiffany. "Or you or you, for that matter?"

"Uh...because it looks stupid?" Tiffany said, the only one of them stupid enough to actually say what she was thinking.

Sandi snarled. "Well, Tiffany dear, if it looks so stupid, maybe YOU should be President of the Fashion Club."

Tiffany smiled. "Thanks, Sandi."

Sandi rolled her eyes. "Look, if you three aren't up to snuff tomorrow, you all can expect indefinite fashion sabbaticals. Now I have to go return some videotapes."

The three non-crazy girls shared a confused glance, as Sandi had decried the rental of movies as an unfashionable activity.

Rather than risk Sandi's wrath, though, the next day the girls showed up in business suits of their own. To Sandi's fury, Quinn was the best-dressed of the four of them. "Oh, I asked mom if she'd take me shopping for a business suit of my own, and she was so happy! I mean, if we're going to be wearing business suits from now on, at least mom'll be more receptive towards increasing my fashion budget, right, Sandi?"

"Right," Sandi admitted, gritting her teeth.

"She even took me to the print shop and got cards done for me! Aren't they cute?" She handed out samples to Stacy, Tiffany, and Sandi.

Sandi was mesmerized by the card in her hand. "Look at that subtle off-white coloring," she said aloud. "The tasteful thickness of it." She narrowed her eyes. "Oh mY God, it even has a watermark."

Her three friends had a double-take at their own cards (even Quinn), as the cards Quinn handed out were pink and covered in hearts and smiley faces. "Uh, Sandi, what -"

Sandi cut Quinn off. "BUSINESS SUITS ARE FUCKING STUPID ANYWAY." She stormed down the hall in a huff, one of her safety pins coming undone in the pants region, causing her to trip. Everybody laughed. 


	3. Chapter 3

As Sandi left the gym's showers the next day, she nervously bit her lip as she looked over at the gym teacher, Ms. Morris. Her family had proven unreliable in helping her understand what fashion really was, so perhaps a teacher would be a better guide. "Um, like, Ms. Morris? I have a question."

Ms. Morris could not hide the slight frown that came upon her from one of her less favorite students. (The Fashion Club were almost as bad as Morgendorffer and Lane - they constantly bitched about how exercise made them perspire). "What is it, Griffin?"

"Like...what is fashion?"

"Fashion?" She snorted. "A pointless waste of time. Young girls like you should focus on exercise, you know, building up your muscles."

"My muscles?"

"I'll show you." She gestured for Sandi to follow her into her office, where she pointed out a poster on her wall. It showed a diagram of the human body, sans skin, with all the major muscles diagrammed. "Fitness will serve you much better in life than fashion, Sandi," she instructed her young charge.

Slowly, Sandi nodded. "I think I understand what you mean."

XXXX

Every eye was on Sandi as she stoically walked down the school's hallway two days later.

Well, she wasn't really walking stoically. Every footstep was a thousand hells, so she was screaming nonstop.

She had taken her car to the Rx Plex and asked Dr. Shar for the...unusual procedure. At first, the good doctor protested, saying that even she had her limits. But then Sandi waved a big wad of money under her nose, and Dr. Shar remembered how much she loved money over ethics violations.

Quinn and Stacy looked on with horror at Sandi. Tiffany looked on with her usual blank expression. "Sandi!" Quinn almost screamed. "What the fuck happened?"

"AAAAAAAAAOh, hi QuAAAAAAAAAAinn," she said as nonchalantly as somebody who'd had every inch of their skin surgically removed. "Haven't yoAAAAAAAAAAAAu heard? The AAAAAAAAAAAAmuscle loAAAAAAAAAAok is, like, totAAAAAAAAAAAlly in." She casually leaned up against her locker, the sensation akin to a dagger piercing every square inch of her back.

Quinn had to shout over Sandi's now-constant shrieks of pain. "SANDI, I DON'T THINK THIS IS A GOOD THING. OR HEALTHY."

"AAAAAAAAAWELL GEE, QUINN, AAAAAAAAAA, MAYBE THE FASHION CLUB AAAAAAAAA DOESN'T NEED FUCKING LOSERS AAAAAAAAAA WHO STILL HAVE THEIR OWN SKIN AAAAAAAAA," Sandi countered.

Stacy nervously bit her lip as she looked to Quinn for guidance. Quinn could only look back and sadly nod her head yes.

XXXX

Three days later, Linda Griffin was waiting for her daughter when she got home. "Sandi, we have to talk."

"What is it, mother? AAAAAAAAAAA!" She screamed as she sat down, as her ass felt like it was literally on fire, and not in a "Chili Cookoff Eating Contest" kind of on fire.

"I got a phone call today from Helen Morgendorffer. Seems her youngest got sent home early today for violation of the new school dress code. Seems it's now required that all students must have their skin on at all times. You care to tell me about that, Sandi?"

"Uh, well, I AAAAAAAAAAA!" Her mother had placed a hand on her shoulder, which...well, you get the idea by now.

"Not only did she tell me the four of you got suspended for a week, she also tells me that Quinn snuck ten thousand for the surgery. Apparently my savings account is also ten thousand lighter!" She waited for Sandi to speak up, but her daughter's mouth was now simply contorting in agony without any sound coming out. "I've already talked to Dr. Shar, and she's agreed to reverse the surgeries and pay back the money in exchange for none of us telling the authorities and getting her medical license revoked. But you are so, so, so fucking grounded, Sandi."

XXXXXXXXXX

I considered throwing in a part where Sandi left a massive trail of blood wherever she went (a la Meat Boy in the game of the same name), but I wasn't sure if that was realistic. Hahahaha, THAT'S my realism worry, yeah. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sandi watched the locker room as the cheerleaders filed out one by one - all save for the head cheerleader. She waited until after the end-of-school bell rang, then slipped into the locker room, grateful to find it empty, save for her prey (who had her back turned to her). "Hey, Brittany," Sandi called out.

"Eep!" Brittany squeaked, swirling around with her pom-pom raised threateningly. "Sandi! You have your skin back!"

Sandi had managed to corner Brittany just after school had let out, on her first day back from her corrective surgery. She figured it was now Brittany's turn to inspire Sandi into some new, misguided adventure.

Sandi ignored the comment about her skin and pressed on with her question. "Like, what do you find fashionable?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sandi. When I'm at school, I just wear my cheerleading outfit. But when I'm at home, I don't wear anything, 'cause Daddy says we're nudists, except..." Brittany's brow furrowed. "Except Daddy never goes naked himself. And he doesn't want Brian or Ashley-Amber to know about us being nudists. Or any of the neighbors..."

Sandi ignored the horrific glimpse into Brittany's home life and cut her off. "So, like, cheerleader outfits, then?"

"Yeah!" Brittany squeaked. "Oh, but if you were thinking of joining, Sandi, we already had tryouts last month. You're welcome to try again next semester, though!"

"Hmm..." Sandi pursed her lips, deep in thought (for her). "So I can't be a cheerleader?"

"Not for Lawndale," Brittany said with a sad shrug.

"Not for Lawndale..." Sandi echoed distantly, before turning around and walking away. She had the perfect plan.

XXXX

Dear Mrs. Griffin,

It is my regretful duty to inform you of your daughter's suspension from Lawndale High for a period of one week. You see, she came to the Homecoming Game dressed as a cheerleader, along with the other members of her Fashion Club. Normally, this would not be a problem, but she was wearing the opposing team's colors. As the opposing team was Oakwood, our arch-rivals, this caused a significant disturbance in the home bleachers.

The transgressions do not end there, I'm afraid. Your daughter and her friends began reciting a cheer, one that I regrettably cannot repeat here. The contents of the cheer were rather vulgar and...eww. Rest assured the words were very demoralizing for both the Lions and the fans watching the game.

Afterwards, the Oakwood coach came over and found out they were Lawndale students, and threatened to sue us for infringement of Oakwood's character, for attempting to represent them as...well, whatever your daughter and her friends were trying to do. Ms. Li ordered the team to forfeit in order to stave off the threat, and that's when the already restless crowd broke into the riot...though, I'm sure you're well aware of that part, since your station covered it.

Ms. Li has already decided your daughter is to receive only a single week of suspension from school. She felt that the injuries sustained by the Fashion Club in the riot - Stacy Rowe lost some teeth, Tiffany Blum-Deckler broke an arm, and Quinn Morgendorffer received several cuts and scrapes - was almost sufficient enough punishment by itself, though she's received numerous angry complaints that harsher punishments need to be taken against them. One person even wrote in asking your daughter be publicly flogged...oh my!

We at Lawndale High hope that this isn't the start of a downward spiral for your daughter. There have been several recent reports of erratic behavior on her part, and this most recent action is an escalation of those early warning signs. I hope that if there is something wrong with your daughter, then you are able to give her all the help she needs.

Yours,

Timothy O'Neill, English Department

Lawndale High School

XXXX

Linda Griffin crumpled the letter in her hand with a snarl and threw it at the trash can, missing by a wide margin. (Most likely due to the amount of alcohol she had been consuming). It had actually been her who had called in the request for Sandi's flogging; after all, that bitch Helen had been getting after her more and more for Sandi apparently leading her precious little ginger astray, and like the old saying went, shit rolled downhill.

As she took yet another slug from the bottle of vodka usually reserved for Tom's martinis, she allowed herself to wonder just what the hell had gotten into Sandi lately. She'd asked her daughter repeatedly, but the little snot kept insisting she'd hit her head and forgotten what fashion was. Sandi was either lying, or was stupider than Linda had thought, and she'd never had a high opinion on her daughter's intellect to begin with. Maybe if she took away Sandi's car, she'd straighten up and fly right.


	5. Chapter 5

Sandi trudged down the sidewalk, her skin already starting to moisten with the - ugh - physical effects of extensive walking. For the thousandth time that morning she wished her mother hadn't taken away her car...and a quick glance at the street signs showed she wasn't even halfway to school yet. Her mother had told her to take the school bus, but Sandi would rather die than be seen on such a low form of transportation.

"Hello, Sandi!"

She turned around. Ugh, it was Ted...something. Reagan? Bush? His last name had some President in it, but Sandi didn't follow politics. Ted probably did, the geek. She frowned as she remembered the time Stacy had tried to argue for his inclusion in the pool of dateable guys. Sandi had to admit that he was unusually popular amongst her fellow high schoolers, despite being a geek and formerly homeschooled, but she had ultimately denied her request.

"Hello, Ted," she said, deigning to speak with him.

"I see you've decided to walk to school today," Ted pointed out. "It's a good idea! Walking is a very healthy activity, and did you know that your model of car only gets -"

"My mother took away my car, so I have to walk," Sandi pointed out, hoping to cut off whatever geeky tirade he was about to go on.

"Oh! Well, that's a shame. I normally bike to school myself, but the tires are getting a little bald, and I haven't gotten a chance to go get them replaced yet, so here we are!"

"Indeed," Sandi said, the inevitable question swimming around in her brain. She was loath to continue the conversation of her own volition, but geek as he may be, Ted might finally be able to solve the riddle. "So, uh, Ted...what is fashion?"

"Well, I can't really speak for anybody else, but I've been looking at retro-futuristic fashions lately."

"Huh?"

"Oh! Well, basically, it's what people in the past thought people would be wearing in the future. Did you know that people used to think shiny one-piece coveralls would be ubiquitous? The kind that Mercury astronauts wore."

Sandi frowned as she struggled to remember the history of space travel. "I didn't know we sent astronauts to Mercury."

Ted laughed out loud. "Oh Sandi, you're such a kidder! One thing I've really been interested in lately, though, are rocket belts. People used to think that they'd be the dominant form of transportation by the year 2000 - I wish they were right!" Ted looked up to the sky with his eyes closed, the dream of flight firmly imprinted upon him.

"Uh, rocket belts?" Sandi questioned, thinking it was something to be worn around the waist.

Ted nodded. "Well, they're more commonly known as -"

XXXX

"JETPACKS, MOTHERFUCKERS!" Sandi roared with glee as she roared down the hallway of Lawndale High, the exhaust from her new toy setting off the sprinklers and fire alarms. Ms. Li, drenched and angry, marched out of her office, held up a giant net (don't ask), and caught Sandi.

XXXX

"You know what Ms. Li told me?" Linda ranted as she drove Sandi home. "She said that she wasn't going to expel you, Sandi. Do you know why? She was afraid what you might do to the CITY if left to your own devices. She said if you burnt down the high school, it was worth it to save Lawndale itself. I agree with her! I'd drop you off at a fucking maximum security prison if I didn't think you would just learn everything you could about mayhem and murder from the inmates and escape! And where the FUCK did you get a jetpack?"

Sandi remained silent, moping in her seat, holding the warm towel around her.

"I'm giving you your car back."

Sandi stopped moping and turned to her mother. "Really?" Excitement was evident in her voice.

"That's what this jetpack stunt was about, wasn't it? If you don't have a car, you'll just find some other mode of transportation, and at least this way you aren't starting any fucking fires."

"Thanks, mom!" Sandi showed an uncharacteristic burst of affection and reached one arm out to give her mother a sideways hug, causing Linda to roll her eyes even as a smile subtly tugged at her lips. Pains in her ass they may be, her kids did occasionally bring out her human side.


	6. Chapter 6

Upchuck swaggered out of bed. He swaggered to the bathroom to brush his teeth (swaggering his toothbrush across them). He swaggered down to the dining room where breakfast swaggered its way down his throat. He swaggered to school. (If he kept swaggering, he'd surely break the bonds that held his component molecules together and dissolve).

Upchuck...had a PLAN.

You see, word had started getting around school: The reason Sandi Griffin was acting so batshit fucking loco recently was because she was asking people what their idea of fashion was, and then turning around and implementing it in the craziest manner possible.

Upchuck's plan basically involved looking at Sandi's boobies.

He swaggered up to her locker (the molecules were already starting to fracture), gave his smarmiest smirk, and spoke. "Hello, enchanting Alexandra," he said, giving an exaggerated bow. "I've heard through the usual peer gossip lines that you're on a quest for fashion."

She turned to him with a look of disgust, but didn't immediately dismiss him. "Go on..." she said, her face shifting to a neutral look.

"Well, it just so happens I am a master of fashion," he informed her, looking down in a show of faux bashfulness.

Sandi stared at him for a long moment, beginning to tap her foot impatiently. "Well? Spit it out, Upchuck, I haven't got all day."

He leaned towards her, a conspiratorial look on his face. "I dunno, Sandi," he said in a stage whisper. "This level of fashion...is risky. Maybe even dangerous. You could get in trouble."

She shrugged. "I don't care about getting in trouble. Ms. Li already said that the only punishment I'd be facing in the future was, like, God's, or something."

He shrugged in return. "Don't say I didn't warn you!" Inside him butterflies were flapping about in his stomach, each butterfly licking its lips in anticipation. "Fashion is...nudity."

Sandi blinked. At that exact moment, the blood clot in her brain shifted just so, permitting her to perceive all time and space. "Nah, it's been done."

"Huh?" Upchuck said, not expecting that response.

"Like, me and the Fashion Club walking around in the nude? It's been done. The Latest Fashion, by Jim North? Written 2011? God, Upchuck, read a fucking fanfic sometime."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the class pervert asked, now completely confused and little 'Charles Ruttheimer the Fourth' completely deflated.

The blood clot settled back down, returning Sandi to the here and now. "Fashion is what the fuck I'm talking about? I don't get it." She rubbed her chin contemplatively. "I'll have to think about it for a while."

"No, wait! Fashion is -"

She held up a hand, cutting off his latest attempt at lechery. "Sorry, Charles, but I only accept advice from a person once in regards to fashion. Maybe if I run out of people to ask -"

"But there's seven billion goddamn people on this planet!" he pointed out, near tears.

"Well, I guess you'll have a while to think about your next piece of advice, then. Maybe it will be better than your first piece of advice."

"But it wasn't...my first..." It was too late, though, as Sandi had already left his presence.

So, Upchuck slunk to class, his molecules in no danger of flying apart, and that sad piano music from the credits to the Incredible Hulk TV series playing in his heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Mr. DeMartino was having a very bad day. His car had gotten a flat tire two minutes out from his house, so he'd had to walk to school. (The tow truck guy, one of his former students, hadn't seen fit to give him a ride, even though the school was on the way to the auto shop). He only realized his briefcase with his lesson plans and last night's graded homework was in his backseat afterwards, so he'd had to run all the way to the auto shop and back, meaning his legs were jelly and his lungs were on fire for most of first period. Second period had Kevin Thompson. Third period had the Fashion Club. He was all set to blow his brains out during lunch, just fucking do it in front of everybody in the whole fucking school, that would fucking show them.

And then Sandi Griffin walked up to his desk after class and asked "What is fashion?" and his day got so, so, so much better.

"You want to know what fashion is, Sandi?" he asked, grinning so hard he thought his cheeks would split open. "You really, really want to know?"

"Well, yeah," Sandi said. "You know, like, history, so maybe you could tell me what fashion is. Or at least was?" She shrugged.

Mr. DeMartino began to laugh. He laughed for a solid two minutes, which began to really unnerve Sandi. "Okay, Sandi. I'll tell you what fashion is." Sandi leaned in, all ears. "Fashion is Hugo Boss, circa 1939."

XXXX

The next day, Daria and Jane turned down the hall only to see the oddest damn sight that had yet visited the halls of Lawndale High: Sandi, Stacy, and Quinn in full-on Nazi regalia staring down Tiffany, who was dressed normally (for her) for once. "Don't forget, Tiffany dear, I am der fuhrer of Nazi Germany!" Sandi cried out in a faux-German accent, which sounded really weird when meshed with her valley girl thing.

Tiffany frowned. "But Sandi, you can't be Hitler in personality," she complained in her slow drawl.

"I don't think Tiffany knows Sandi very well," Jane snarked.

"You've got to remember who you are...fight this off..."

The cynical duo quickly moved past the quarrelling quartet, mainly from Daria almost dragging Jane along. "Hey, what gives?" Jane asked, once they were in their classroom.

Daria sighed. "How would you feel if you saw your own sister dressed up like a goddamn Nazi?"

A witty remark was on Jane's lips, until she realized that Daria was genuinely in pain. "Uh. I guess I'd feel pretty shitty about it."

Daria glanced furtively towards the door. "I don't know what her deal is – Sandi, I mean, since she's obviously the one who keeps dragging Quinn and the others into this nonsense. Except for Tiffany, this time..."

"Oh yeah, I think I heard somewhere that Tiffany's Jewish," Jane said. At Daria's skeptical look, she shrugged. "I dunno, I just heard it somewhere."

"Hmph." Daria crossed her arms, deep in thought. "I just wish I knew what Sandi's problem is."

XXXXXXXXXX

If Sandi's and Tiffany's dialogue sounds familiar, it's because I cribbed it from an amusing old-timey Superboy comic where he did indeed believe he was Hitler in personality.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandi walked down the sidewalk in Lawndale's main business district, deep in thought. "Like, it's like I can't trust anybody to tell me what fashion is," she mused aloud. "Things keep going wrong." She walked past a Kay Jeweler's. "I wish there was a way to ask, like, God, or the universe, or whatever, what I should be doing."

"Kay! Kay!" Angier Sloane called out to his wife as he chased his angry wife, the both of them having just left a business farther down the road.

"Like, if you're out there, God, or maybe that Thor guy from the movies, if you can give me a sign that will lead me to true fashion, like, show me."

"I like caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake!" Mrs. Johanssen screamed, making a mad dash to the bakery to make the baker very happy.

Sandi cleared her throat and tapped her foot expectantly. "Any time now, God."

Charles Ruttheimer III walked out of the pharmacy, a large tube in his hand. "Good ol' KY, you're the only thing that hasn't let down the Chuckster," he cooed to the tube. The tube shuddered.

Sandi briefly stopped her walkabout in front of an electronics store. All the TVs had the news on, where the top story of the hour was "Mike Tyson KOs grizzly bear". Sandi sniffed disdainfully at the animal cruelty and continued onward. She passed the Lackluster Video, where the clerk was setting up a cardboard cut-out of Will Smith that read "Kay is back! Rent MIB4 today!"

Her cell phone chirped with an incoming text. Sandi glanced down and saw Stacy wanted something. Not bothering to read it, she quickly typed back "bzy rght now. talk ul8r."

"kk" Stacy texted back in response.

Sandi kept walking, until the sidewalk took her out of the business district and into the parking lot of Lawndale Elementary. "Wait a second..." The gears were starting to spin in Sandi's head. "Is...THAT what the universe is trying to tell me?" Her eyes were fixated upon one of the cars that had just parked in front of the school, and in particular the elderly woman climbing out of the driver's seat. "Yes...yes. That is fashion." She moved forward, a hungry look in her eyes.

XXXX

Quinn and Stacy exchanged nervous looks as Sandi waited for their reaction to this latest harebrained scheme, hands firmly entrenched upon hips. "Well?" she demanded.

"Uh, Sandi, it's not that..." Stacy began, trailing off.

"What Stacy's trying to say is..." Quinn, too, faltered.

"Spit it out!" Sandi said with a stomp.

"Well, Sandi, last time we got in a lot of trouble," Quinn pointed out.

"Tiffany still won't talk to us," Stacy added.

"And this just seems like it'll get us into more trouble," Quinn finished.

Sandi looked down at her outfit. She was wearing a giant foam K suit. "Like, how do you figure, Kuh-winn?"

Quinn looked like she had bitten into a lemon. "Well, right now it's just us three, right?"

"Right," Sandi nodded.

"And if you're wearing an outfit shaped like a big K, you expect us to wear the same kind of outfit, right?"

"Right," she nodded again.

"And you don't see anything wrong with this image? You don't associate anything bad with the letters 'KKK' all in a row like that?"

Sandi squinted. "Should I? Or are you trying to suggest that you have a better sense of fashion than...moi?"

Before Quinn could answer, a loud shriek sounded out from the far end of the hall. "There you are, you hooligan! You whippersnapper!"

All eyes turned to see the source of the outburst, and all eyes immediately regretted it, for it was the oldest teacher in the world, Mrs. Stoller, wearing naught but a set of underwear that was new perhaps the day Pearl Harbor was bombed. "You're the nasty young woman who stole my K outfit!" she accused. "How am I going to teach my kindergarteners the letter K without it?"

All eyes turned upon Sandi, with looks of pity (for Sandi being cray-cray) and/or condemnation (half condemnations were for robbing a little old lady, the other half were for causing a little old lady to wander in nearly in the nude). Sandi had the good grace to blush in shame. "Uh, like, sorry, ma'am," she muttered, quickly stripping out of the K and handing it back to the nonagenarian.

"That's more like it," Mrs. Stoller sniffed, as she pulled the outfit back on. "Alright, boys, peep show is over!" She strolled happily out of Lawndale High, humming a merry tune to herself.

XXXX

That night, Upchuck kept glancing at the tube of KY he had purchased, but every time he did, images of Mrs. Stoller in her skivvies strolled through his head, and little Charles Ruttheimer IV imploded. The tube breathed a sigh of relief. 


End file.
